"They're about to murder your child —your child, I tell you! Do you comprehend what I say, Joan?" "I've hurt my head," replied Mrs. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. "The poor young man!" she said. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks.
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